


an old car seems almost alive

by corvile



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars: Before The Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cars, Drabble, M/M, Rapier Squadron, Unmitigated Suffering, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:55:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5803543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvile/pseuds/corvile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a little over a month since the accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an old car seems almost alive

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by:  
> \- my masochistic desire for Pain  
> \- [in the dark](https://open.spotify.com/track/4KbSZVFoiIQMy7bnbEi4Xs) by kate miller-heidke  
> 

It's a little over a month after the accident. Poe's unit (what's left of them, anyway) are out in the backyard of his and M- no; just his house, now. The funeral was a quiet affair; Muran wanted something simple. Poe's still having trouble thinking of him in past tense. He can hear the laughter from the yard as they recount their acquaintanceship with Muran: they're all a little drunk, judging by the slightly-too-loud quality of their voices. He doesn't blame them; he'd be drunk, too, if he could stomach the taste of liquor.

It was a drunk driver that had wiped out Muran. "Dead on impact", they'd said at the hospital. His neck was snapped. "It would have been painless". It wasn't painless. It's not painless. His partner's dead, and there's no way this could have been painless for either of them.

Poe's not out in the yard with the unit any more; suddenly, the noise and chatter and life, qualities he valued in his friends and colleagues, were overwhelming.

Instead, he's in their garage. One side's taken up by junk: the detritus of domesticity. On the other, their car - Muran's car - sits, as alone as Poe feels. He opens the door and eases himself into the driver's seat. It still smells like muran: cedar aftershave and leather, sharp and warm at once. He shuts the door, and his world is now the interior of the car. It hasn't been driven since the accident, with Poe accepting rides from colleagues instead; coming up with excuses to avoid it. It's as neat as he kept it. Poe knows, without looking, that in the glovebox, there is a packet of tissues, a lighter, a bottle of hand sanitiser, and two sticks of gum (peppermint). Muran never allowed Poe to smoke in the car, but he kept a lighter in there for Poe anyway, since Poe always forgot his.

Poe exhales slowly. His hands shake; he reaches up and grips the wheel tightly; his knuckles turn white and he tastes blood; he's biting his lip hard enough to bleed. He inhales again, holding his breath like he can hold the memory of Muran and his leather-and-cedar smell and his peppermint gum and his spare lighter inside his chest. When he breathes out, it's a soft sob, torn from his lungs like a low cry of pain. He rests his forehead against the steering wheel and feels one tear after another drip off the bridge of his nose, _pat, pat, pat_ onto the vinyl cover of the wheel.

Poe closes his eyes; imagines Muran's sitting next to him again. He pulls his set of keys from his pocket (he's kept them close, like a talisman; stupid, really, but what part of this isn't fucking stupid?) and slots them into the ignition. He turns the keys. The car doesn't even spark.


End file.
